


The Platypus

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Time, M/M, Marking, Spring Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:45:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: Ryan goes to the same hotel for spring break for all six years he’s in college. A Texan coed leaving a mark on him might be the reason.





	The Platypus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt marking, for seasonofkink.
> 
> Warning: Ryan's pov of sexuality is pretty binary, but he's got good intentions.

The first year Ryan and twenty of his nearest and dearest vague acquaintances go to The Platypus Hotel it’s because one of the guys uncles has some kind of _in_ there, enough so to get the group a cheaper rate than advertised anywhere. Ryan has a million once in a lifetime experiences, drinking from an ice luge and a giant inflatable water trampoline amongst them. The whole event permanently cements itself as a vacation that must be had, at least until he has to get a real job.

The next year the guy with the uncle has fucked off, and so have half the others from Ryan’s first group, but there’s enough with favorable memories of The Platypus that they rebook. And staying in the same hotel, again, is Chad. All of a sudden that memory comes roaring back. Massively sleep deprived, in a perpetual state of drunk because he might not drink at home but in foreign countries there’s an appeal to it, somehow finding himself in a probably-scam-but-who-cares charity game. A few dozen strangers partnered and made to kiss, as people who buy drinks with cards attached can vote on who’s making the hottest scene. Winner gets half the profits, charity getting the rest. Ryan found himself getting paired with a dude, a scruffy ginger in green board shorts. Not gay, but who cares? Not gay, but straight girls like a tease and he could use some cash. He didn’t win, so he and his friends had taken off for the next ridiculous event without a second thought.

But Chad. He’s here, in the lobby, board shorts still dripping from whatever body of water he and his buddies just climbed out of. All Ryan’s friends don’t even recognize him. Sure like a million gb of photographic blackmail material got taken over the week, but everyone’s self centred enough to only care about the stuff they’re in. Ryan on the other hand recognises him so hard that he’s struck dumb for a few minutes, long past when Chad and his group pass by. And maybe that would be that, except two nights later Ryan’s dug through every single duffle in the room, every plastic bag and drawer, and come up empty. He’s so ravenous he would straight up punch a guy in the face for a sandwich. Fucking eight guys sleeping in a two queen hotel room, and not a scrap of food between the lot. His last chance is a stale doughnut from the continental breakfast buffet, if they haven’t been stolen by some other drunk needing to soak up some booze with carbs. And there, sitting at the long table in the room at the front of the hotel is Chad, downing a cup of coffee and working on something on his iPad.

“Homework?” Ryan asks, surprising himself by approaching the guy rather than going back to his room.

“Yeah, some engineering stuff. Not everyone can leave their shit to the last minute, and there’s just no time during the day. We go pretty hard.”

“Yeah, so do we. But I’m a theatre major, so there’s less of the hard copy stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Chad repeats. He seems truly interested, maybe even grateful to have a brief break, so Ryan joins him at the table.

In the dawn hours of his sophomore year Ryan kisses a guy with intent. There’s no one to watch and be entertained or into it, just some lonely swirling thing inside Ryan telling him he wants to put his hands on another man’s face. He’s never wanted that before. But he’s drunk, in Cancun, so he does. He kisses with want for an hour, and Chad grips him so hard he leaves bruises on his forearms. Then the first hangovered American of the day wanders into the breakfast room, they split apart, and Ryan doesn’t see him again.

The rest of sophomore year and the first half of junior year -except he’s changed majors and is basically at the starting line again- are dedicated to a colossal slow burn anxiety attack over probably being gay. He can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a few dates, if you can even call that having a girlfriend. But he never lets himself consider going out with a guy. It’s not what nice Southern Georgia boys do. And then it’s February, and time to book spring break tickets. He’s confused, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to have a huge rager for six days. Except, somehow, somehow the only choice is The Platypus Hotel, and seeing Chad. It’s like he goes into warp mode, switches gears without a blink. If he sees Chad, he can figure out what he is, who he is and how to restructure the rest of his imagined life to fit the new facts. Lucky for him, his friends don’t really care where in Cancun, as long as Cancun. 

He can’t let himself think about how maybe Chad’s not at The Platypus. How for all Ryan knows he didn’t even come on break this year. He could literally be dead and Ryan would never know. The anxiety makes him break out in a cold sweat, and so he sits in the lobby in a hoodie and pants, waiting. Chad will come through if he stays alert long enough. He will. He has to. Ryan has to know who he is. Suburban barbeque having tv watching hetero father is very different from wine cellar owning, smoking jacket wearing exposed brick and mahogany floor dwelling in homosexual dog owner. He can only make goals for one direction. 

It’s gritty eyed mid-morning when a miracle occurs. There he is, a pinnacle of all of Ryan’s subconscious yearning. He’s wearing a Nintendo shirt and jeans and Ryan wants to make a cute joke about how he likes the worst games, he wants them to have been together so long that insults are as loving as sentiments. But he knows that’s crazy, that that’s about seventeen steps too far for where they are now. If Chad even thinks they’re _anywhere_. Just because Ryan’s been mulling over those fifty seven minutes for the last eleven months doesn’t mean it sticks out in Chad’s mind. Still, he has to say something on the approach. 

“What floor’s your room?” The second the words are out of his mouth Ryan is horrified. Could he sound more like a fucking stalker than asking where a stranger is sleeping?

“Hey. Ryan, right? Cool, you’re here too, again. Cool,” Chad repeats, like he’s confirming it.

“Do you wanna, like, makeout?” Maybe a clear headed man could ask more enticingly, but Ryan is delirious with sleep deprivation and the concept of finally relieving his identity anxiety. Which, honestly -and not sleeping for thirty hours after an international flight gets one pretty honest with themselves- is less and less a real question and more a confirmation. He wants Chad to want him, he doesn’t want some girl named Jennifer with a communications major and aspirations for a cat and three kids to want him. 

“Shit yeah. Lemme just drop my shit off in my room. Not that I’m going to have a fucking spot. I took the cash voucher to change my flight to a later one, which is good in the long run, but I bet those fuckers took all the bed spots.”

They say ‘see you later, right,’ at the end of spring break. They haven’t done much more than kissing, but that’s essentially all they’ve done this break. In the bar, on the beach, in the pool, against walls outside, in the car Ryan’s group has rented. Once or twice a hand in underwear, a mouth on a nipple. Ryan says it, and he means it. He’ll get a part time job for the year if he has to, nothing is putting a hold on his next vacation.

Fourth break is when it happens. Ryan can’t speak for Chad, but he’s spent the last 365 celibate. He doesn’t want to be with anyone. He wants to be with Chad. And maybe it’s pathetic, it’s just sad of him that it’s taken him so long to figure that out, but it’s how he’s processed. Now he’s done processing, and he has months of pent up desire brewing. He waits in the hot tub because he wants Chad to have to take his shirt off and show his abs the moment he spots Ryan. He stays in for hours drinking this local fruit moonshine stuff and his legs are wobbly when Chad walks up to him, but retain enough feeling to straddle his man once Chad’s sitting. 

There’s another couple in the hot tub, but everyone politely ignores each other. They do whatever, and Ryan grinds his ass on Chad’s crotch. He can feel Chad get hard against him, a not new sensation over the last few years. What is new is pulling his wide legged shorts to the side as much as he can and getting his thumbs into Chad’s waistband. Ryan rubs against him, dick head to asscrack, head occasionally nearly pressing his asshole. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. 

At least it is until the first time Chad actually fucks him. That happens in an actual bed, with the closest thing to privacy they’re going to get on a vacation like this; Chad’s other four roommates having been bribed away with beer money, and the last fully blacked out on the floor between the window and the queen bed they’re not on. Ryan’s checked that he’s in recovery position in case he starts puking but otherwise he doesn’t care. He’s twenty two, having sex in the same room as someone passed out is hardly the worst thing he’s ever done. Chad fucks him so hard the damp with sweat fitted sheet comes off the bed and bunches underneath him.

“We’re doing that again, as soon as I can get my dick up,” Ryan says when it’s over. He’s not quite enough of a slut yet to want to get fucked when he’s not even hard, but maybe in the future. Chad’s got a week to convince him. He’s already been convinced of the spectacularness of a good old fashioned hickey, seeing as Chad’s bitten almost every inch of his neck.

“You wanna do me?” 

Okay, and there’s his dick’s motivation. Hell yes he wants to bone Chad.

The fifth spring break Ryan spends at The Platypus is more of the same. Drinking until there’s more alcohol in his bloodstream than oxygen. Swimming until every surface he’s sharing with his buddies that isn’t covered with sleeping bags is draped in wet clothing. Fucking and getting fucked in all sorts of semi-public scenarios until he and Chad are both sore, then drinking the ache away. Where things change is at departure. Ryan can sense every second before Jack calls the taxi for the airport slipping away from him and he hates it. He’s not ready for break to be over. He’s not ready to wait another year to see Chad again. So he offers his real life information like a lotus, hoping it’ll be accepted. Not chatty information like how school’s been, or what his family is like. Hard details like his phone number, and his Instagram profile.

Seeing Chad for the first time during his sixth spring break isn’t quite the relief it’s been in the past. They’ve been FaceTiming almost daily for the last year, so there’s no sense of will-he-won’t-he-be-here. Ryan helped Chad find the cheapest flight, taught him that trick about deleting cookies before purchase to get the best price. They decided all the way back in November to splurge on sharing a room with no roommates. So no, Ryan’s not happy-surprised to see him. But he is delighted. Watching someone jerk off for you can’t hold a candle to actually stuffing a cock into his throat.

“I want to get a tattoo,” Ryan tells him, somewhere beyond a dozen orgasms so far. They’ve barely left the room. Only picking up a bottle of rum had been considered a priority, lube already in both of their suitcases and the nonstop party outside killing any sense of urgency for any particular shindig.

“Okay, what?” Chad asks with casual curiosity. He doesn’t have any tattoos himself, and Ryan ought to know, considering how much skin of Chad’s he’s touched recently.

“Your lips.”

“What?” Chad laughs, clearly under the impression that Ryan is joking.

“Look. I’m not going to get your name and I don’t expect you to get mine. That’s literally never been a good idea for anyone. But these summers have meant a lot to me, and you’ve meant a lot to me. So even if we never see each other again, I want your mark on me. Visibly, I mean. You’ve basically already left it.”

“Right, because I’m going to delete your number on the plane ride home.” Chad snorts. “I know you’re stressing about graduating, but there’s no law that says you can never come to Cancun again.” 

“Fuck that, I have student loans. We can meet in Mississippi.”

Chad laughs. “You’re so cute when you’re frugal. And, uh, condoms are pretty expensive. Wanna bareback me and come up my ass?”

The seventh spring break Ryan meets Chad he doesn’t get on an international flight. There’s a beach in Gulfport. There’s a rented cabin and leaving sunflower seeds on the porch railing for the chipmunks. Ryan posts a picture on his Insta captioned ‘The Platypus: the Sequel’ of them sitting on the front steps drinking beer at sunset and gets a bevy of hearts from friends who have been unsubtly betting on when they’re going to move to the same city. At night Chad bites all over Ryan’s body, paying special attention to bruising the skin around Ryan’s one and only tattoo. It’s good. It’s a future Ryan can see himself enjoying for a long time.


End file.
